


Old Dog, New Tricks

by shalako



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed, dont worry Pongo is fine, in a way at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 23:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12828543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalako/pseuds/shalako
Summary: Archie doesn't know what he expects when Pongo gets off his leash and runs into traffic, but it isn't this.





	Old Dog, New Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> Clearing out my Google Docs. This one's original title just says "boring" so.... you know.

“PONGO!”

It happened so fast. They were almost across the street when Pongo suddenly turned, determined to bound back into traffic. His leash, which Archie had been meaning to replace, somehow managed to unclip itself, and just like that Pongo was gone.

Archie saw the truck heading for him. He saw Pongo leaping in front of it, realized that the truck wasn’t going to stop in time. He waited for the sound of Pongo getting hit, had time to hope it would be quick.

But Pongo didn’t get hit. There was someone on the other side of the street, closer to where Pongo was, who rushed forward, grabbed the dog, and got out of the way of the truck just in time. Archie wasn’t the only one to stop and stare.

It took him nearly thirty seconds to realize the person who saved his dog was Mr. Gold.

“Oh, God,” Archie whispered. He bent his knees experimentally, checking to see if they still worked. Then he hurried forward, first at a trot, and then at a run. It didn’t really matter how fast he went; everyone on the street had stopped driving. 

Mr. Gold struggled with Pongo’s weight for a moment, then let the dog go at the same moment his leg buckled and he fell to the ground, somehow managing to keep a grip on Pongo’s collar. He looked up at Archie, face pale, and gave a painful semblance of a smile.

“Thank you  _ so _ much,” Archie said. It took him three tries to clip the leash on again, but Mr. Gold held Pongo still the whole time, one hand clutching the collar and the other gently patting Pongo’s neck. He didn’t say a word. “Oh, God, I thought he was gonna get hit,” Archie said. He extended his hand to Gold. “Are you okay?”

Gold was staring at Pongo, his eyes far away. When he finally realized Archie was looking at him, he flinched. “Uh, me or the dog?” he asked.

“ _ You _ !” Archie said. Gold just blinked.

“I-I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

Gold shrugged; the noncommittal gesture was ruined by the look of confusion on his face. “Yeah.” He let go of Pongo’s collar and took Archie’s hand; it was surprisingly hard to get Gold to his feet, as Archie seemed to be doing all the work, but eventually they got there. Gold straightened out his suit jacket, but didn’t move away. He was looking around absently, a line appearing between his eyebrows. “Have you, uh …?”

Archie looked around, trying to figure out what Gold was searching for. Then Gold went unnaturally still, his eyes coming to rest on a splintered piece of wood a few feet away.

His cane, Archie realized. It must have got run over.

“Ah, fuck,” Gold whispered. Archie could feel his ears going red. He couldn’t figure out exactly why he was embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I-I’ll buy you a new one, honest--”

“No,” Gold said, his face turning a light shade of pink. “I have a spare, it’s just…” He hesitated, glancing across the road to his pawnshop and then back down at his feet. People were still stopped on the sidewalk, apparently marveling at the fact that, out of all the people in Storybrooke,  _ Gold _ was the one to save Archie’s dog. 

“Well, let’s get out of the street,” Archie said. He tugged on Pongo’s leash, but then noticed that Gold’s flush had deepened. Curiosity stopped him from going any further. “Mr. Gold?”

Gold glared at the ground. “It, uh, wasn’t a decorative cane,” he mumbled. Archie’s eyebrows shot up; he tried to think of something to say. His first instinct was to deny that he’d thought it was just an accessory, but that would be a lie. 

“Do you need help walking?” he asked instead. Gold’s eyes darted toward the cars still waiting for both men to get out of the road, then back to Archie. He looked mortified.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. Archie nodded and stepped closer, unsure of how to help and not wanting to embarrass Gold any further by doing the wrong thing; Gold solved the problem for him by grabbing onto Archie’s right arm.

They walked toward the sidewalk slowly, Gold’s leaning on Archie heavily, his limp far more pronounced than Archie had ever seen it. By the time they reached his pawnshop, Gold’s blush had faded away. He unlocked the front door without even looking Archie’s way and seemed determined to rush inside without saying another word. Archie watched him, pretending that he was struggling to control Pongo so Gold wouldn’t question why he was still there.

Gold slipped inside his shop. Archie hesitated a moment, then followed him in.

“Hey,” he said. Gold ignored him, completely concentrated on walking to the center of the room. He moved gingerly, with one hand gripping his thigh. He didn’t look up from the floor until he was safely behind the counter, his hands splayed on the glass surface.

“Only service dogs allowed,” Gold said. Archie blinked.

“What?”

Gold nodded toward Pongo. “Only service dogs allowed,” he repeated. Archie looked down at the Dalmatian.

“Oh. I-I was just coming in to - to thank you again, for what you did. You didn’t have to save him. Especially since you - well, lost your cane, and all.”

“Great,” said Gold, his voice flat. “You still can’t have dogs in here.”

“Right,” said Archie, trying not to feel stung by Gold’s sudden frostiness. “Well, if you need a ride home, just let me know. I don’t mind.”

Gold’s stoic expression took a slight turn, becoming simultaneously softer and more unreadable. “Right,” he said. 

Archie nodded, looked at his feet, cleared his throat. Beside him, Pongo whined, eager to go back outside.

“He  _ is  _ a service dog,” Archie mumbled, and headed out the door. Gold didn’t say a word.

* * *

Archie’s last appointment ended at 4:30, so he was home by five. He passed his car - parked in the driveway - and spared it a thoughtful glance before letting Pongo into the house. When exactly did the pawnshop close? There was no way Archie was letting Gold walk home - especially after seeing today how hard it was to cross the street - but he didn’t want to show up several hours early and make everything awkward.

He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. He knew the pawnshop had definitely closed at four last week, because he remembered walking by on his way home and seeing that the lights were off and the Open sign had been turned around. But then, he remembered last fall, when he had ducked into the pawnshop one night around eight, to get out of the wind.

So maybe it was impossible to tell when the pawnshop closed. Maybe he should just go now.

Archie turned around before he even reached the front door, heading straight for his car. He drove to the pawnshop as quickly as the law allowed, sighing in relief when he saw the lights still on, though Gold himself wasn’t visible through the window. Archie drove around to the parking lot out back. 

Should he wait? Would Gold even know he was out here? The obvious solution was to go inside and maybe ask Gold what time he planned on going home, but Gold had been so cold earlier. And of course, it was a bit presumptuous of Archie to assume he was the only option Gold had. For all he knew, Gold had a wife and kids, with in-laws next door and a vast array of neighborhood friends, all of whom were perfectly capable of either giving Gold a ride or fetching his spare cane from his house.

And any of those options, Archie was sure, would be more comfortable than accepting a ride from a tenant Gold barely knew. But then again, for all he knew, Gold  _ didn’t  _ have any of those things - no family, no friends, no neighbors he could even trust with a spare house key. He wasn’t sure which scenario made more sense. If Gold had a large network of friends and family, it might explain why he felt capable of sneering at everyone in town - who needed to be polite and make new friends when they already had dozens?

On the other hand, a  _ lack  _ of good relationships might explain Gold’s behavior just as well. Especially if he’d been experiencing that lack for a while. Gold was, in short, either the happiest person Archie knew or the most depressed.

And sitting here psychoanalyzing Gold wasn’t gonna help matters. Archie pulled the keys out of the ignition with a sigh and got out of the car, heading toward the pawnshop. He hesitated outside the back door; he’d never gone in this way and wasn’t even sure it was allowed, but he might as well try. It sure beat walking all the way around to the front.

Archie raised his fist and knocked three times, hoping the volume was just high enough to sound confident but not obnoxious.

“Gold?” he called. “It’s Archie.”

There was a horrible moment of silence - Archie had time to wonder if Gold had slipped out the front, if he’d somehow seen Archie’s car pull up and decided to get away. But that was ridiculous, and a second later he could hear footsteps coming toward the door.

It cracked open, giving Archie a tiny glimpse of Gold’s face before it swung open all the way.

“Are you serious?” Gold asked, seeming unamused. Archie opened his mouth and closed it again, taken aback.

“Uh - sorry?”

“You’re here to pick me up?” Gold guessed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Uh, yes …?”

Gold shut the door again.

“Mr. Gold!” Archie cried, no small amount of exasperation tinging his voice. “Come on - at least tell me when you’re closing up so I can come back!”

Gold didn’t answer. There was a long pause; Archie looked down at the doorknob and hesitated before turning it. The door was unlocked -- Archie pushed it open and stepped inside, immediately earning a glare from Gold, who was sitting on a small bed across the room. Gold’s suit jacket was gone and his hair was tousled. Archie wandered around the room with his eyes never leaving Gold; he wasn’t sure what to do or say now that he was inside.

Eventually, he approached the bed and took a seat, the mattress shifting under his weight. Gold’s shoulder bumped his for a moment before the other man pulled away.

“I can’t make it home,” Gold said simply, his voice quiet. He glanced up at Archie, face unreadable. “There’s too many stairs.”

Archie considered this. “Do you have a spare cane at home?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Gold. “In the closet, near the door.”

“If I take your keys and go get it,” said Archie, “will you be able to do the stairs?”

Gold’s face flushed and he looked away, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. “Not tonight,” he said. “But if you go get it, I might be able to do it tomorrow.”

Archie eyed the bed he was sitting on. It was piled high with blankets and pillows, but it was small and didn’t seem too comfortable. “You’re planning on sleeping here?” he asked.

Gold nodded.

“If I go get your cane, will you be able to walk down the street to my house?” Archie asked. “My bedroom’s on the ground floor. No stairs.”

He watched Gold drag his bottom lip between his teeth and chew on it. Archie shifted uncomfortably, worried Gold might draw blood.

“I owe you,” he said. “For saving my dog.”

Gold glanced up at him, his eyebrows furrowed. “You helped me to the shop already,” he said.

“Yeah, well,” said Archie. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Pongo is family to me. I’ve had him since he was a puppy -- I don’t think helping you to the shop quite covers it.”

Gold was close enough for Archie to feel him sigh. “Alright,” he said. He reached for his suit jacket, draped over a chair nearby, and fished his keys out of the pocket. Archie took them, his thumb rubbing over the small, wooden keychain. There was a single letter ‘M’ engraved on it, simple but elegant, and Archie couldn’t help but mull that over. Did Gold’s first name start with M? Was this keychain a gift from somebody? Gold didn’t strike Archie as the type of person who bought souvenir keychains with his own initials on them.

“The cane’s in the closet right next to the front door,” Gold said, interrupting Archie’s thoughts.

“Okay,” said Archie. He shoved the keys in his pocket as he stood. “Is there anything else you want me to get? Pajamas, or …?”

Gold grimaced. “There’s a bottle of Ryzolt in the bathroom,” he said. 

Archie nodded. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

* * *

It was a short drive to Gold’s house, even if Archie made a few wrong turns along the way. He found the cane quickly; it was nearly identical to the one Gold usually carried, with just a slight difference in the shape of the handle. It took him slightly longer to find the bottle of Ryzolt; it wasn’t in the bathroom downstairs, and the bathroom upstairs was filled with an abundance of medications. Archie sifted through them ‘til he found the one he needed and then hesitated, hyper-aware of the fact that Gold’s bedroom was right next door.

Archie battled with himself for a moment; Gold hadn’t acknowledged his offer to bring back pajamas, which meant he was either comfortable sleeping in his clothes or -- and Archie admitted this theory was more likely -- he simply didn’t want Archie snooping around in his bedroom. With a sigh, Archie turned away, bounding down the steps to his car.

_ Did Gold buy this house before hurting his leg? _ Archie wondered. He started the car and pulled out of the driveway, heading back toward the pawnshop. He assumed Gold’s leg was the result of an injury, but he couldn’t remember Gold ever walking without a cane, Either he’d had it all his life or for at least -- Archie did the math, trying to remember when Gold came to town -- at least since he was thirty. Archie was fifty-two, and he reckoned Gold was about the same, though it was hard to tell.

* * *

Gold took two stiff steps with the cane and then hesitated, holding his hand out to Archie. When Archie came closer, the hand landed on his shoulder; Gold leaned on him all the way to the car, almost as heavily as he had earlier that day without the cane. The drive to Archie’s house was so short it really wasn’t worth getting in the car -- or wouldn’t have been, without Gold.

He followed Archie to the front door without assistance; Archie led the way through the short hallway to a junction where three large rooms led into each other -- the kitchen in the middle, the living room to the left, and the bedroom to the right. There were no doors except the one which led to the bathroom. Archie pointed to each room in turn, giving Gold a brief introduction to the house.

“I know the layout,” Gold said quietly. Archie just nodded, his cheeks turning red; he’d forgotten Gold was his landlord.

“Okay,” he said. “Uh, I’ll go get you some pajamas.”

He gestured toward a kitchen chair and hurried into the bedroom, not waiting to see if Gold took a seat. Archie rustled through his drawers, finding a pair of pajama pants that were a size too small for him and a men’s sweater Ruby had left here during a sleepover years ago. Archie draped them over his arm and loped back to the kitchen.

“Here you go,” he said. Gold’s eyebrows rose an inch but he took the pajamas without a word. “The bathroom’s connected to the bedroom, so …”

“Where are you sleeping?” asked Gold. Archie blinked.

“Uh, the couch, I guess,” he said. Gold twisted in his chair to look into the living room. He made a face at Archie’s ancient leather loveseat, covered in ratty blankets and dog hair. Pongo was sprawled out on it, fast asleep.

“The couch?” Gold repeated. He looked up at Archie. “You can’t fit on that.”

Archie squirmed, unable to deny that it would be a tight fit. “Well, there’s the couch upstairs, in my office.”

“Your office for therapy?”

“Yes.”

“That sofa’s even smaller than this one,” Gold said. “I wouldn’t even fit on it and you’re nearly a foot taller--”

Archie laughed. “I’m not even six foot,” he said. Gold looked at him uncertainly. “Well, what are you?” Archie asked. “Five-six? Five-seven?”

Gold shrugged, his eyebrows twitching a little. He bundled the pajamas under one arm and stood, limping past Archie into the bedroom.

“We can share,” he said, so quietly Archie nearly missed it. The next moment he was in the bathroom, the door shut firmly between them. Archie just stood there for a long moment, his thoughts muddled, trying to figure out if he’d offended Gold by talking about height, trying to figure out if Gold had really said they could sleep together. Finally, Archie went into the bedroom, changing his clothes while he still had some privacy.

He discarded his day-clothes in the hamper and sat heavily on the bed; there was only one blanket -- it was more than big enough for two people, but he wondered idly if Gold would want to share. Some people didn’t like to share blankets; Archie had had a boyfriend once who insisted on them each having their own individual blanket, even three years into the relationship. 

Archie laid back on the bed, wondering why he felt so wide-awake. Then he looked at his phone and remembered it was only six o’clock. 

“Shit,” Archie muttered. He chuckled to himself as he sat up again, glancing out the window at the dark sky. Winter always messed with his brain. He stood up just as Gold came out of the bathroom, looking oddly cute in the too-long pajama pants.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna make dinner,” Archie said. “I was thinking curry, if you want some?”

Gold placed his cane against the bedside table carefully and then collapsed onto the bed, pulling the covers over him without a word. Archie laughed again and headed into the kitchen. If Gold wasn’t eating, he was just gonna make a pizza.

* * *

Archie turned the TV off and stood slowly, pushing Pongo off his lap, his joints popping. He moved into the kitchen, turning lights off as he went, and heard blankets rustling in the next room. Archie looked over and watched Gold sit up slowly, rubbing his face and checking the alarm clock. It was only nine. Without glancing Archie’s way once, Gold grabbed a pill bottle -- the Ryzolt -- and took two tablets before lying back down.

“Gold?” Archie said, stepping into the bedroom. Gold rolled over but didn’t answer, so Archie sat on the edge of the bed and shook his shoulder. “Come on, this is important,” Archie said. Gold grumbled but eventually rolled over, staring up at Archie.

“Well?” he said. Archie swallowed, throat dry.

“I can’t share a bed with you in good conscience,” he said. Gold’s eyebrows furrowed. He shifted, pulling his arms out from under the blankets to pillow them behind his head.

“Why?” he asked. 

“Uh, well,” said Archie, twisting his fingers around. “Because I’m gay. And I know that if you knew, you probably wouldn’t -- wouldn’t be okay with it. So …”

“I’m not a bigot,” Gold scoffed. Archie flushed.

“I wasn’t saying --”

“Well, only a bigot would worry about something like that,” said Gold. “Do you want this side?”

He was eyeing Archie’s legs, clearly wondering why he was still sitting on Gold’s side of the bed.

“Er, no,” said Archie. He made his way to the other side of the bed and got under the covers; the bed was insanely warm already, and Archie had a sudden vision of Gold as a toy poodle -- incredibly small, but putting out just as much heat as bigger dogs. He smiled to himself and took his glasses off, before remembering that the bedside table was on Gold’s side.

“Uh …” said Archie, holding them out. He wasn’t sure how well Gold could see with the lights off, but soon enough Gold’s hand found his, plucking the glasses away and setting them down next to Archie’s phone.

“You need an alarm set?” Gold asked, his voice quiet.

“No,” said Archie. “I’m good.”

Gold didn’t respond, and within a few minutes, his body relaxed and he was breathing slowly. His elbow brushed Archie’s side and Archie tried to ignore it, getting comfortable on his half of the bed. 

It was a long time before he fell asleep.

* * *

Archie woke up while it was still dark out, swaddled in warmth. Gold was curled up against Archie’s chest, his arm wrapped firmly around Archie’s waist. Their legs were entangled; Archie couldn’t remember the last time he had cuddled with someone like this. He glanced down at Pongo, curled up on the foot of the bed with his head firmly wedged against Gold’s legs, moonlight shining through the window to highlight his spots.

Archie closed his eyes again, unable to stop himself from smiling.


End file.
